[Above photo: Harriman Point Preserve, Brooklin, ME]
28 June 2024
I sit alone in my nephew’s lovely country house on Salt Pond outside of Blue Hill, ME, looking through a grove of birch and spruce at the tidal Blue Hills Falls. Salt Pond flushes itself through the channel beneath the bridge. It is a sparkling day, with 10 knots of breeze, temperatures in the low 70’s, and blue, blue sky and water.
My friend, Lindsey, will join me shortly, driving here after work in Augusta. He runs the largest pediatric mental health service in the state at Maine General Hospital. The bean counters there are threatening and decimating the program; treating mentally ill children and their families is not “a procedure” and, thus, is not a money-maker. They just fired 2 of their 6 psychologists and are talking of downsizing more. Their short-sighted thinking doesn’t take into account the long-term costs of not engaging with and treating children, many who have been traumatized, and their families. Thus, the juvenile and adult justice systems will know them, the substance-abuse treatment centers will know them, the adult mental health treatment programs will know them, and, if you happen to pay attention to the medical literature, you’ll recognized that the adult health care systems, including SSI and medical services will be needed. This is not to consider the sheer lack of humanity, of human compassion, in denying needed services to youth and families in pain. What a country!
Last night’s encounter between two old men—one decent and kind with a remarkable track record, one delusional, self-serving and endlessly dishonest—seemed like the eventual penalty we must pay for our way of life and our election system. The almighty dollar—and I don’t mean enough to live comfortably: we have enough so everyone could if we had a more equitable distribution of our wealth—and its corollaries of power and possessions rate so much higher in the American imagination than satisfying human relationships.
I immediately wrote a letter to the NYTimes and one to Joe, encouraging him to accept congratulations for a difficult job extremely well done, if imperfectly, and to step aside for a younger, more vigorous politician, equally kind, smart, and principled. Many of us fear the demise of democracy—No, I’m not Chicken Little. But DT has shown and told us as much.—if Joe doesn’t make room for a younger face.
After 5 weeks or so in Ari’s barn slaving away with respirators, epoxy, plywood, fiberglass, Proset, fairing compound, gel-coat, primer and paint, we launched her boat, and ran the 12 miles out to Beach Island. I’ve been out again since and the boat is dry, fast, and stable in rough chop. I feel much better about her safety in it than in her little older one. Weather changes quickly here and it can “blow up ugly” in short order. The best, I guess, is that we had a good time on the rebuild and learned a lot about each other and our relationship. She has qualities of perfection that serve well in boat repair, putting a brake on my “let’s just get it done” rather than doing it the right way. Her brother was the same and they take after their mother in that way, which quality I admire.
Poki and I are talking, have dined together a couple of times, and, basically, have buried our respective hatchets. I am certain it is a great relief to Ari. I know that I wonder at how different we are and how/why we got together and stayed together for 47 years. I suspect she feels the same. But that was then and now is now and I’m just happy we can talk easily.
Back to the immediate now, Lindsey and I shall spend tonight at the house on Salt Pond and tomorrow night at Ari’s in Brooklin. We’re taking a kayak capsize, rescue, and rolling course tomorrow out of Stonington with an instructor we hired. Originally, back in March, we planned to do both days but given the 58 degree water temperature and our ages decided that one day of immersion might be sufficient.
—–Days later—
The course was wonderful. Stonington is a charming town from which to embark into its adjacent magical archipelago of small islands. Home to the largest lobster fleet in Maine, the evidence of its history as a major source of granite for the nation is everywhere.
The weather was ideal for a rescue class: 20 knot winds and hefty chop. We never got to rolling but capsized plenty and each did at least one self-rescue and one assisted rescue. He also worked on our strokes and braces, as well. I got chilled after 4 immersions, as I hadn’t worn enough layers beneath the drysuit.
Our instructor, Dan, was a large redhead who was calm and induced confidence—in him and in ourselves. He is a transplant, with his wife, from rural North Carolina. He grew up in a Christian family of 5 boys and was home-schooled. He obtained his bogus college degree by passing tests at an online diploma mill at 18yo. “I regret never really going to college.”. But he is smart and kind and loves teaching, at which he is very good. We’ll hire him again in a few months after we’ve practiced his lessons.
Back to “The Debate”. It was hardly such, a display of what our great country can anticipate: a raving self-interested confabulator and conspiracy generator bound for vengeance vs. a decent but doddering old man who “has his good days and bad”. We need neither as our leader in these precarious times of global climate change and AI, with both Russia and China seeking worldwide hegemony with their own brands of dictatorship. Despite Joe’s comfort surrounding himself with smart people and somehow having managed to accomplish an astonishing amount of good for our country—serious climate change legislation, infrastructure building, attempting to lessen the wealth gap and bring order to the border (both measures blocked by the GOP), strengthening our relationships with allies worldwide, and helping to tame inflation—he isn’t up to it anymore. This was not “a poor debate night”, as some have charitably labelled it. This is another point in his ageing process we all should live to be so lucky to experience. “Oh, to be bitten by next year’s mosquito.” He’s gradually coming apart, returning to clay.
By the way, I fail to understand why no one says the obvious when people complain about the inflation and blame it on Joe. It wasn’t primarily caused by this Administration. The entire world saw inflation after Covid, as surging demand met diminished supply and compromised supply chains. We tamed the inflation much more rapidly than any of our allies through our fiscal policy.
I hope Joe can gracefully exit and make way for one of the smart, decent, vigorous Dems in the wings. I like a Gretchen Whitmer/Cory Booker or Pete Buttigieg ticket. I think voters will sigh with relief and come out of the woodwork in droves to elect them. It could be a very exciting time and Uncle Joe could be a formal senior advisor. It seems an excellent choice to me, certainly better than either of the ancients running at the moment. Imagine recognizing a woman president and a gay or black VP as being the best suited for the job. Even the possiblity suggests hope for our parochial, pinched society.
As to the Supremes, they are beyond the Pale: dishonest, corrupt, and disconnected from our Constitution, legal precedent, popular sentiment, and decency.
Meanwhile, Beryl has barreled through the Caribbean, shredding Grenada and Jamaica as it heads for the Caymans, the Yucatan peninsula, Belize, and possibly southern Texas, the earliest category 4/5 hurricane in history.
We are in for some fierce times. We also have formidable resources. We’ve succeeded—prevailed—before.
A Psychiatrist in Myanmar 